


Love Somebody (Like You)

by mrsvc



Category: Footloose (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsvc/pseuds/mrsvc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is stupid," Willard sighed, kicking the tire of Ren's battered, but loved, yellow Beetle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Somebody (Like You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akitron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitron/gifts), [Minshinki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minshinki/gifts).



> My friends understand my intense love for this pairing, so I wrote a fic to purge myself. It didn't work. It never works.

"This is stupid," Willard sighed, kicking the tire of Ren's battered, but loved, yellow Beetle.

"You're stupid," Ren joked, jumping off the hood of the car. "You just got to learn some rhythm, white boy."

"Yeah." He pulled his hat off, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and fiddled with the brim nervously. "Easy for you to say." 

Ren had a long blade of grass clutched between his teeth and the cuffs of his plaid shirt sleeves rolled up, his sunglasses pushed up so his blue eyes caught in the sinking Georgia sunlight. He frowned, not going to just swallow Willard's self-pity bullshit.

"Maybe if you played something I could actually dance to," Willard grumbled, shuffling a boot in the dirt.

"You can't dance to anything, Willard, that's your damn problem."

Willard picked up on his playful tone, though, a small smile quirked on the edges of his lips. "That's my problem, is it? Maybe your problem is you play shitty music." 

"Oh, so, now we're insulting my playlists?"

"That's what I'm doing, I don't know what you're doing, city boy." 

Ren punched him lightly on the shoulder, probably the only man in all of Bomont and the surrounding area who could do that and walk away without a scratch, and stole Willard's straw hat from atop his head. He hopped back on his car hood, pushed his sunglasses down onto his nose, and popped Willard's hat on his head. "Show me what you got, cowboy." He flipped the iPod to a country song with a real good fiddle solo that Willard loved and leaned back, his fingers twisted together on his stomach. 

Willard didn't feel as self-conscious as he had that first day, with Woody and the girls there watching and mocking him, but it was still strange. He kept trying to dance a simple box step to the beat but he was always too fast, getting lost in his own feet, and he couldn't tell what Ren was thinking behind his dark sunglasses. He noticed how Ren's feet would bob in time to the music, like a subtle metronome to show him the beat he wants to feel as naturally as Ren does, but even as he stares at that, the shifting ankle that sways in time with the music, he forgets to keep dancing. 

"You're pathetic."

"Hey, now, you ain't helping, Sally Sunshine." 

Ren jumped down, planted Willard's hat more firmly on his head, and grabbed Willard by the hips. "Slow it down, cowboy."

The brim of his straw hat kept hitting his chin everytime Ren looked down at his feet to guide him in the steps and Willard wasn't sure he was actually moving at all. The song switched to something slower, from some band in Boston he'd never heard of but Ren seemed to favor, and he just stopped.

"Hey, hey, you can't just quit."

"You're wearing my hat." It wasn't what Willard had intended to say, but it was what came out. It was hot in Georgia, a sticky sort of heat, and Ren was still standing too close to him. 

Ren just smiled, slow like molasses had no right to be in this heat, and said, "Yeah, I am. You going to fight me for it?" 

And God, that was just like him, the little shit. Willard grabbed a fistful of Ren's pretentious plaid shirt, brand new and a little too designer to be real county, and said, "Yeah, fight you for it."

Willard hoped to God this wasn't another one of Ren's tricks, that he wasn't playing gay chicken, or going to call bullshit on him when he tried it, but he wasn't going to risk not trying, at least once. He kissed him, fierce and demanding, and Ren let him, sunk into it a little in a way that would have made Willard smug if he could have felt anything other than the weakness in his own legs. Ren backed them up, pulling Willard by his belt loops, until his knees hit the grill of his car, and they dropped to it with a thunk. 

His hat, however, had tipped off Ren's head and bounced onto the red clay dust, forgotten by them both until much later, when Willard's overalls were buttoned back up all wrong and Ren's plaid shirt was open to reveal the wrinkled wife beater underneath.


End file.
